𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝒉𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅

Cara Henderson's pov

As my eyes fluttered open, the world felt distorted, a reality tinged with shadow and discomfort. The throbbing in my head pulsed relentlessly, each beat making me wish fervently that I had stayed submerged in the realms of sleep. My eyes felt hazy, as if I were peering through a foggy lens, and the sharp ache resonated painfully in my ears, echoing the chaos of the previous night. Confusion gripped me; last night was a desolate blur, fragments peeking through the fog like fleeting ghosts, taunting my consciousness.

When I dared to shift my body, a jarring stab of pain radiated between my thighs, so intense that it anchored me in place. Immobilized and bewildered, I glanced down, panic tightening its grip around my chest. I lay on a mattress, the fabric rough against my skin, but how had I ended up here?

Trying to piece the puzzle together, I sifted through the murky remnants of the night. Dinner—that was a starting point. I could almost taste the spaghetti, feel the weight of the drink in my hands, see the shadows dancing across the room as the alcohol took hold. Then a bed…and now, the gut-wrenching reality of my present.

The memories were a chaotic jumble, a tangle I feared I wouldn’t be able to unravel for some time. Just as I felt hope for clarity fading, the steel door swung open, and my heart lurched. Travis entered, his presence imposing yet distant, his gaze avoiding mine as if I were a mirror reflecting something he didn’t want to confront. The coldness in his eyes made my stomach drop—had something happened between us that I couldn’t fully grasp?

“Travis…” My voice came out unsteady, aching with the desire to reach out, to grab hold of anything familiar. But it felt like my body was refusing to cooperate, weighed down by the throb in my head and the searing pain between my legs. Fresh tears threatened to spill as I struggled to sit up, each movement amplifying the agony.

“Don’t. Let’s go. I’ve got your clothes,” he replied curtly, as he stepped closer but refrained from any touch, a strange hesitation hanging in the air like a thick fog.

He approached cautiously, detaching the chains from my ankles. I attempted to rise, but my legs felt like jelly beneath me, leading me to lean heavily against the wall for support. I could see his expression change, surprise flickering in his eyes as he noticed my struggle but remained silent.

“What…” I started, confusion flooding my senses.

“I don’t know...I can’t…” My voice faltered, begging for answers, but all that escaped was a cough, tears choking my throat. What had I done? The pain, the overwhelming feeling of dread—it felt like a dark shadow pressing down on me.

“Cara, let’s go—”

“I can’t! I can’t move...it hurts too much!” My voice broke into a sharp yell, desperation spilling over as tears streamed down my cheeks, each drop a silent testament to my anguish.

Without a word, he scooped me effortlessly into his arms, and I winced at the renewed pain, pressing my face into his shoulder to stifle my cries. He carried me into the bathroom and set me down gently, but I could feel the weight of his gaze, a mixture of concern and something darker lurking behind it.

“What happened?” I whispered, barely able to manage the words through the lump in my throat.

“Nothing…” he replied, his voice barely above a murmur, before retreating into the hall. It felt like an eternity before he returned, placing a pile of clothes on the counter.

“Tell me,” I demanded, knowing deep down that something had transpired—something that had left me in this fractured state.

“C’mon, Cara, you know…” The hesitation in his voice told me more than he intended. Was I deceiving myself, or had I truly been violated?

“Was it… rape? Oh my God, is that why it hurts so badly?” Panic surged through me, my breath quickening as the horrifying ramifications dawned on me. This couldn’t be real, could it?

“I didn’t rape you—”

“Then why does it hurt? What the hell did you do?” My fury erupted, each word sharp as daggers aimed at him.

“We both drank too much! We... kissed, and I touched you…” His brutal honesty left me reeling. Did that really happen? I felt my heart sink as his admission sank in.

“And? What else?” I pressed, desperate for anything resembling clarity, terrified of the answers lurking in the shadows of my memory.

“I fingered you,” he stated flatly, with an unsettling hint of pride.

It couldn’t be true. The weight on my chest lifted slightly, but I felt nauseous, the realization washing over me like bitter poison. We had been drunk… why hadn’t he stopped?

“That’s… disgusting,” I gasped, feeling violated in more ways than one.

“Disgusting? We were both fucking drunk, Cara.”

“Yeah, and you gave me alcohol instead of stopping it. What the hell is wrong with you?” I shot back, fighting against the searing pain to stand, facing him defiantly as tears blurred my vision. His demeanor shifted, his intensity sharpening as he loomed over me.

“Nothing is wrong with me! What the fuck do you mean?” His voice was cold, yet there was an undercurrent of aggression simmering beneath the surface.

“Yeah, let’s kidnap someone’s daughter because of your fucking past! Grow up. Taking advantage of someone when they’re drunk is sick!” I spat, fury igniting my words.

“Shut the fuck up!” he roared, the force of his anger sending a tremor through me, spit hitting my face with each word.

“I didn’t take advantage of you! I was drunk too. We both weren’t thinking straight, you asked for it, and I did too. Stop blaming me for us both being drunk, you bitch!” His words dripped with venom, each syllable pulling at the strings of my sanity.

Disgust washed over me, a wave of nausea crashing against my resolve. I stood on shaky legs, yearning for escape, desperate to turn back the clock to a time when everything felt safe and normal. “I just want to go home,” I whimpered, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of my situation, the regret clawing at my insides.

“Cat got your tongue?” he taunted, his eyes dark and unyielding.

“I… hate you. I hate you so much,” I screamed, the pent-up rage bursting forth as I pushed against him with all the strength I could muster, futilely attempting to shove him away.

“I hate you! I hate you!” The words poured from me, a desperate chant as I struck at him with my restrained hands.

In an unexpected move, he seized my wrists. For a heartbeat, I braced for impact, about to defend myself. Instead, he pulled me into his chest, an embrace that felt like betrayal. My heart raced with anger and longing, the two emotions battling within me, desperate to break free.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured, but his words were hollow now, echoing emptiness in the depths of my despair.

I was sinking, lost in the conflating waves of hatred and an unbearable longing for comfort that felt so wrong. In that moment, I realized I wanted to be held, even while I hated him for everything he had done. I wanted someone to wrap me up and shield me from the reality that crashed around us, knowing deep down that the safety I craved was entangled in the very arms of the man I despised.